


Carnival Lights

by Spinning_In_Infinity



Category: House of Wax (2005)
Genre: All the fun of the fair, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Public Molestation, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28068558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_In_Infinity/pseuds/Spinning_In_Infinity
Summary: Bo makes a stranger’s ride on the Ferris wheel more than an average trip to the carnival (public molestation/forced orgasm).Inspired by a soundgasm recording by Qarnivore.
Relationships: Bo Sinclair/Reader, Bo Sinclair/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 48





	Carnival Lights

It was your first blind date since you were sixteen. The guy was twenty-three and already a junior partner in a prestigious law firm, and dull as paint. But, even discounting his handsome face and impeccable manners, your mom would never forgive you if you messed up on the first date. He’d opted out of riding the wheel with you, confessing a fear of heights that prevented him scaling anything higher than a stepladder, and had stepped away to pick up snacks for when you descended.

The Ferris wheel had always been your favourite ride as a kid, back when your dad used to take you to the carnival, and you really wanted at least one ride before the night ended – for old time’s sake. You didn’t care if it made you look weird to ride alone.

The wheel is an old-fashioned one with round, metal-roofed cars, with seats sitting opposite each other. Thankfully, it doesn’t tilt too far with just your weight to balance it.

“Just you?” the attendant asks. You nod.

He’s just about to close the door and secure it when someone speaks up:

“Excuse me, y’all mind if I ride with you?”

He’s a handsome, dark-haired man in his thirties, with a lazy Louisiana drawl, dressed comfortably in work pants and a navy button-down shirt, an old red-and-white trucker cap sticking out of his back pocket. His face is friendly, eyebrows raised in hope as he awaits your response.

“Oh … I, uh …”

You’re not sure your date would appreciate you sitting in such a confined space with a strange guy you just met, but the attendant is looking at you impatiently, so you panic and shrug in consent. The guy smiles and takes the seat opposite you, the car bouncing a little at the change in weight. His legs are long, his knees almost brushing yours, but he keeps his hands at a respectable distance in his lap. The attendant fastens the door shut and the car trundles a few feet along to allow the next passengers. You know it’s gonna take a while – they need to fill up every car before setting the wheel to spin freely. Which means you’re sitting with this guy for at least the next ten minutes.

“Name’s Bo,” he says, holding out a hand to you.

“Um … Y/N,” you reply, accepting the handshake politely. His hand is big, his palm warm against yours.

“Figured we might as well get acquainted if we’re stuck in this tuna can together,” he reasons.

“Yeah,” you grin nervously, not wanting to point out that you’re only “stuck” because it was his idea to join you.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m a creature of impulse – my ma used to take me and my brothers on this wheel when we were little kids, an’ I saw you sittin’ alone and, I dunno, you just looked like a nice girl, so I took a shot.”

“No, it – it’s okay,” your smile grows more genuine. “My dad used to take me on this wheel too, every time the carnival came into town.”

He smiles, his eyes fixed on your face. He has an intense, dark stare, his brown eyes barely blinking. “So you here by yourself?”

“No, my date’s around here somewhere.”

“Well, that’s a little weird,” Bo says. “Leavin’ you to ride alone?”

“Heh, yeah,” you shrug. “Doesn’t like heights.”

Bo snorts and mutters something that sounds like, “Pussy.” You can’t help but giggle.

The car has now elevated far enough from the ground as to make disembarking impossible. You gaze down at the sprawling carnival lights, illuminating the stalls, food carts and rides in a soft, golden glow.

You don’t speak up when Bo shifts in his seat, edging closer to you so your knees touch. The car _is_ small – there’s no reason to make a fuss for what could just be an honest mistake. Until his fingertips brush against the crown of your kneecap.

“Kinda irresponsible, really,” he says, his voice lowering. “Leavin’ a little lady as cute as you unaccompanied.”

Would it be rude to ask him to stop talking? Or at least to move his hand? His fingers are _definitely_ rubbing the inside of your knee now, his gaze hot in a way that proves he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You’re just about to say something, when he ‘casually’ shifts in his seat, lifting his trouser leg high enough for you to see the handle of a knife tucked into his heavy boot. Your blood runs cold and you press your lips together. His hand slides further up your leg until his whole palm is resting on your thigh.

“I know if it were me,” he purrs, “I wouldn’t let you outta my sight for a moment.”

Your fingers are shaking, your skin beginning to prickle.

“Please …” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.

He grins. “Please what, princess?”

“I …” you swallow around the lump rising in your throat. “Please don’t hurt me.”

He laughs. “Then you’ll do what I say, won’t cha?”

He eases the knife from his boot and pockets the guard protecting the blade, tracing the dull edge down the soft skin of your thigh. One false move, one flick of his wrist, and you’d be bleeding out all over the car floor. He leans across and uses the blade to dislodge the straps of your dress.

“Let’s see them gorgeous tits,” he says. Reaching across, he pulls at your neckline, revealing the strapless bra you’re wearing underneath. “Oh, honey – d’you wear that just for me?” Slipping his fingers inside the blue lace cup, he releases one of your breasts and squeezes roughly. You whimper, clapping a hand over your mouth when the knife twitches in his hand.

“Look at these pretty little nipples,” he flicks his thumb over one, smiling when it hardens at his touch. “Why, they’re already pleased to see me, aren’t they?”

Cursing your treacherous body, you shut your eyes and wince as he scoops your other breast free, jiggling the soft flesh.

“God damn, these puppies look sweet enough to eat,” he moans, leaning in and lapping at one nipple with his tongue. You cringe away from him, gasping when he takes a firm grip on the back of your head.

“Now,” he murmurs, “you’re gonna come sit on my lap, right? We’re gonna have a little fun. Easy, nice and slow – don’t wanna draw too much attention now, do we?

Hating your own cowardice, you shift from your seat and turn, letting Bo settle you against his clothed erection. You can feel it through the fabric, digging into your ass. The car stays at an inconspicuous angle, the cars below, above or opposite you none the wiser as to what’s going on.

Bo keeps one hand on your breast, squeezing and pinching, the other strays further downwards. The knife is stowed away back into his boot, but you already know better than to make a grab for it.

“Let’s see just how much of a good girl y’really are,” he whispers in your ear, teeth biting at the side of your neck. A shiver runs through you, and you can tell he feels it by the way his lips curl against your skin. The tips of his fingers brush your panties and you close your eyes in shame at how damp they are. You’ve always had sensitive breasts, and the way he’s sucking and teething at your skin is only making it worse. Nudging aside the silky fabric, you gasp when his thick, calloused fingers trace the outline of your pussy.

“Ahh, there we go,” he shifts a little, spreading your thighs further apart with his knees. “Just look how wet y’are for me. You’re just a little slut, ain’t cha?”

His fingers push past your folds, rubbing at your clit and making your legs tremble. He slips in up to the first knuckles of his index and middle fingers, his thumb circling your clit with a practiced movement.

“Y’like the way my fingers feel in you, you little whore?” he growls in your ear. “Fuck, you’re soaking wet. Bet you wish you could take my hard fuckin’ cock in that sweet little cunt, huh? Ride me ‘til I fill you up with cum, you dirty fuckin’ slut.”

He forces another finger inside you, tilting his wrist to allow them to sink in right to the hilt. You stretch around his digits, your slick walls inviting him in further. Why is this happening? Why are you so turned on? Your heart flutters in the cage of your chest and you bite your lip to keep from moaning.

“Thaaaat’s it,” Bo croons, quickening pace. “You love it, don’t you, you little whore? You love havin’ my fingers all up in your cunt.”

You shake your head and the hand molesting your breast takes a firm hold of your jaw. He turns your head to face him and your lips are assaulted – his tongue staining your mouth with the faint taste of tobacco. Your pussy is liquid in his hands, the warm whispers of pleasure building steadily in your lower stomach.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ cum for me,” he growls. “Y’hear that, bitch? You’re gonna cum on my fingers like a slut. C’mon, gimme that goddamn pussy. Show how much you love bein’ fingered like a cheap whore.”

_Bitch. Slut. Whore_. The poisonous words hang in the air around you.

“Tell me you wanna cum,” he demands. “Beg me to make you cum.”

“I— I can’t …” you whimper. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you stooped to that level of indignity. Then he stops and the sky comes crashing down around your ears. “F-fuck—!”

“Tell me what I wanna hear, baby.” He moves his fingers again at a brutal pace, the friction against both your clit and G-spot almost too much to bear. It’s growing, reaching such a pitch as to make your ears ring.

“Fuck, please …” you screw your eyes shut against what you feel is the judgment of the world. “Please … make me cum—”

“Say my name, bitch,” he growls. “Tell me who this fuckin’ cunt belongs to.”

“Bo! Y-you … my … it belongs to you … oh God, Bo, please, please—”

At the last moment, as you feel your walls contracting, he shoves two fingers in your mouth, grunting with satisfaction as you bite down to prevent yourself crying out from the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced. He chuckles darkly in your ear, his fingers making an obscenely wet sound as they withdraw from you.

He allows you to reassemble yourself before the wheel has completed its final loop. You run a hand through your tangled hair and wipe away the smears of mascara beneath your eyes, while he sucks the shining fluid from his fingers with apparent relish. The last few drops, however, he spares for you. You gag around the fingers he forces into your mouth, tasting the tangy flavour of your own juices.

When the attendant lets you out, Bo gestures for you to go first, like the Southern gentleman one might presume him to be at first glance. You can see your date waiting for you, a stick of cotton candy in one hand. As you reach him, he watches Bo leave the car behind you.

“Who was that?” he asks, handing you the pink cloud of spun sugar.

“No-one,” you shrug as casually as you can manage. You could tell him, now you’re free from the cage. But you don’t. And you never will.

Grinning like a cat in a dairy barn, Bo secures his cap atop his head. Catching your eye one last time, he nods in farewell, and disappears into the crowd. 


End file.
